Maelstrom by Jordan L. Hawk Read Free Book Online Page B

Fortunately for him, the perpetrators had
already left by the time he arrived to find the body.”
    “And Lambert didn’t have another...episode?”
Whyborne asked.
    “He claims not. He might be saying so to
make himself less suspicious in front of the police, of course, but
I find myself believing him.” I reached into my coat. “After I
spoke with him, I stopped by Detective Tilton’s desk. Tilton wasn’t
in, but he’d carelessly left some photographs of the murder
behind.”
    Whyborne’s eyes widened. “You stole one?” he
asked in a scandalized whisper.
    “Good man,” Christine said, reaching for the
photo.
    “The details aren’t distinct,” I explained
as I handed it over. “It looks to have been taken at night, with
only the police lanterns to illuminate the scene. Still, one can
see the brutality of the crime all too well.”
    “I’d say,” she said with a frown.
    Iskander peered over her shoulder. “Good
lord.”
    The picture showed poor Mr. Tubbs, his
lifeless body sprawled across a low, blocky stone. His clothing had
been torn aside, and sigils painted on his skin in some dark
substance. His throat had been cut, and his chest pried open.
    Whyborne accepted the photo from Christine
and studied it. “His heart?”
    “Missing,” I confirmed.
    “He wasn’t just murdered,” Iskander said.
“His death seems to have been part of some ritual.”
    “Those stones in the background are hard to
make out,” Christine said, “but they don’t look natural.”
    “According to the newspaper, Mr. Robinson
found the body amidst some old Indian standing stones.” I tucked
the photograph away again. “Which is why I requested you all to
accompany me. I want to look over the site, but I’m neither
sorcerer nor archaeologist. Nor am I as adept at camera work,
should we wish to document the area.”
    “Not to mention going alone would be
foolhardy,” Iskander added.
    “That, too,” I agreed.
    The carriage rocked slightly as we turned
onto a narrow lane leading off to the west. The coast fell behind,
and the landscape became slightly less inhospitable. Shrubs and
real trees soon hemmed in the lane, and fields lined with rock
walls lay beyond.
    Eventually the coach drew up in front of a
small farmhouse, its sides weathered but still sturdy. An elderly
woman tottered out onto the porch to greet us, her face creased
into a frown.
    “We don’t want to talk to no more
reporters,” she snapped as I climbed out.
    I beckoned Whyborne to follow me, then
approached her with my hat in my hand. “I assure you, ma’am, we
aren’t reporters,” I said. “Permit me to introduce myself. I’m
Griffin Flaherty, a private detective. This is my friend Dr.
Percival Endicott Whyborne, and—”
    “Whyborne,” she said. She peered at him
through narrowed eyes.
    I focused on my shadowsight. No mark of
sorcery lay on her, but there was...something not quite human. The
blood ran thin in her, but I was certain she was a ketoi
hybrid.
    “Good afternoon,” Whyborne said, a bit
stiffly.
    “Hmph,” she said. I couldn’t tell if the
sound was meant to indicate approval or its opposite. “My husband
found the body in the far field, over that way.” She indicated the
direction with a jerk of her head. “Just follow the lane there,
past the barn and the hayfield, ’til you come to the high hill with
the big oak. He was laying right on the altar stone.”
    Whyborne looked aghast. “Altar stone?”
    “I’m not saying we used it as such,” she
said defensively.
    “Of course,” I said quickly. “Thank you,
Mrs. Robinson. Your cooperation may set an innocent man free.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear
nothing more about it. There’s things decent folk know to leave
alone, and this is one of them.”
    She shuffled back into her house and shut
the door decisively. “I suppose that makes us indecent folk,”
Iskander remarked when we climbed back into the carriage.
    “I’ve always said as much,” I